


not quite young

by cursedway



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Child Neglect, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kink Meme, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, joey is a sad messed up kid okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedway/pseuds/cursedway
Summary: Joey has a missing brother, an absent father, and a mom who's there without really being there.And he has Ish, which, in hindsight, may or may not be a good thing.
Relationships: David Isherwood/Joseph Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	not quite young

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the DC kink meme, and the original prompt can be [here.](https://dckinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/766.html?thread=162814#cmt162814) This is my first time filling for a kink meme, and I wanted to thank op for the wonderful prompt! The explicit rating is for later chapters, and more tags will be added as we go along.
> 
> Also, a note on warnings: 
> 
> Typically, I like to put broader warning in the tags and specific/spoiler-y warnings in the end notes, but due to the nature of this fic I don't think I'd be able to do that sufficiently. That being said, the tags still hold a lot of info, so read those before deciding if this is for you. Enjoy!

Every Sunday morning, Joey wakes up at seven thirty sharp. He brushes his teeth, dresses in his pressed white button down and dress pants, and walks next door to Ish’s house.

Joey has a key - Ish had given him one for emergencies - but on Sunday mornings Ish leaves the kitchen door unlocked so he can let himself in. Usually, Ish is just finishing his coffee, already dressed in his Sunday best: crisp white collar peeking out of his knit sweater, fitted pants and clean leather loafers. Even though Joey is used to it, even though he steels himself right before he opens the door, he can’t help but end up staring at Ish, just for a second, before he forces himself to look away.

But Ish will just smile at him, tell him to take a seat and ask how school’s been, if he has any new art pieces he’s been working on. Joey always preens under the attention, hands moving animatedly as he tells Ish all about it. Ish’s eyes will crease at the corners as he smiles at Joey, Ish’s sole focus on him and nothing else as Ish finishes his coffee before driving them to the service.

On this particular morning, as Ish pulls into the church parking lot, he asks, “Have you thought about getting your beginner’s permit?”

Joey shrugs; he hasn’t given much thought into it, to be honest. He isn’t nearly as excited about it as some of his classmates are. Doing things like that is harder, now, that he needs an interpreter in order to actually do it. He still didn’t even have one for school, and was stuck with writing notes and typing on his phone.

Ish shuts the engine off, turning so he can face Joey. “I was thinking about taking you out to get some practice. There’s a nice stretch of road just out of town, if you're interested.”

Joey jerks, surprised. He can feel his heart start to speed up in his chest, his face get warm. _That would be great_ , he signs, much more enthusiastic than he’d been a minute ago.

Ish smiles at him, as bright as the sun. “I have a few errands to run this afternoon, but I can pick you up after school tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Joey nods, grinning ear to ear; Sunday’s are his favourite.

***

The last thing Joey is expecting to see as he walks out of band practice is Ish, leaning against the lockers outside of the music room. The hallway is empty but for the two of them; Joey had stayed behind to get a new set of sheet music from the band director.

 _Hey,_ Joey greets, surprised. He shrugs his knapsack so it’s more securely on his shoulder. _What are you doing here?_

“Your mom told me she was working late,” Ish says. “I thought I’d pick you up and we could have dinner at my place.”

Joey doesn’t mention that Ma doesn’t pick him up from band even when she _isn’t_ working late. Joey feels a little awestruck at the fact that Ish is here at all.

“Was that you on the piano?” Ish asks as they start to walk to his car. Joey nods. “You’re really good, Joe.”

 _Thanks_ , Joey says, trying not to squirm at the praise.

“I didn’t know you played piano, too,” Ish continues. “I’ve only ever heard you on guitar before.”

 _They’re not too different,_ Joey says with a shrug. _They have all the same notes, just different hand positions._

Ish hums. He opens the car door for Joey, which only serves to make Joey’s face get hotter as he climbs into the car. “Which do you like better?”

 _Guitar,_ Joey answers once the two of them are seated. _The cords are more fun, even if you can’t play more than one note at a time._

Ish keeps asking questions through the drive back to his house. It feels like the most interest anyone’s ever had in his music before. Ma will make absent comments when she hears him practicing, sometimes, but that tends to be the extent of it. But Ish listens intently, watching Joey hands even as he drives them to his house, asks questions and genuinely seems impressed when Joey tells him that he has a jazz band solo at the next concert.

“That’s amazing,” Ish says. “When is it? I’ll come see you play.”

 _You don’t have to_ , Joey protests, giving him an out. It’s for an entirely selfish reason: Joey was tired of looking out at the audience for a face that wouldn’t be there.

“I want to,” Ish insists. “You should be really proud of yourself, Joe. In fact,” he continues, reaching into a kitchen cabinet and pulling out a bottle of wine. “I think that’s something worth celebrating, don’t you think?”

Joey talks and laughs with Ish while they eat. It’s been a while since Joey has actually sat down and had dinner with someone. It feels nice, especially because it’s Ish, who picked Joey up from band and made him dinner and even let him have a second glass of wine after Joey had made puppy eyes at him.

 _I’ll get the dishes,_ Joey says once they’re done, picking up the dirty plates from the table.

“You don’t have to,” Ish says.

 _I want to,_ Joey signs back insistent.

Ish smiles at him. “Alright,” he relents. “You’re a good kid, Joey.” He reaches out and ruffles Joey’s hair. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.

Joey ducks away, but he’s grinning. His chest feels bubbly and light in a way that maybe has to do with the wine, but mostly has to do with Ish.

Joey scrubs off the plates and utensils. He fills up the sauce pot up with hot water and soap and leaves it to soak. He goes to pick up one of the wine glasses they’d used at dinner, but he isn’t paying enough attention to where it’s sitting on the counter. His fingers bump into it awkwardly and send it tumbling to the ground. Joey shoots out a hand, trying to catch it, and only when it shatters against his palm does he remember that rule about not catching falling glasses.

The sound of it smashing against the tile is deafening. There’s a single second of silence before Joey hears Ish call his name from the other room. All Joey can do is stare at the broken glass, glinting in the artificial light.

Once, when Joey had been around nine or ten, he’d been in the kitchen washing dishes with Grant. Well - Joey had been washing them. Grant was older, so he got first pick of chores and was drying them as Joey stacked them into the drying rack. Joey had been rinsing the soap off of one of Pa’s nice, heavy whiskey glasses, when it had slipped out of his hand and shattered in the sink.

From the other room, Joey had heard Slade say, “What the _hell_ was that noise,” as he and Grant looked at each other in silent panic.

This had been in the time after Slade’s discharge. He’d been irritable, volatile and prone to snapping over anything. Just breathing in the same room as him had felt like walking on eggshells.

Slade had appeared in the doorway and taken one look at the broken glass. His face was hard and furious.

“I did it,” Grant had blurted before Slade had even opened his mouth. “I dropped it. I’m sorry.”

Joey had been the one standing at the sink; Grant had been holding a towel, his hands not even wet.

Slade had crossed the room in a blink. One second he’d been glaring from the doorway and the next he’d been looming over Grant. He slapped Grant across the face, hard enough that Grant had stumbled back, catching himself on the lip of the sink.

“Clean that up,” Slade barked. “And you better not fucking break anything else. You hear me?”

“Yessir,” Grant had said, automatically, clutching the red mark on his cheek.

Slade had stormed out of the room. A moment later, the front door opened and slammed shut.

“I’m sorry,” Joey had whispered in the following silence.

Grant swallowed. He’d let go of his cheek to scrub at his eyes. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “It’s not your fault.” The two of them listened as Pa’s tuck engine roared to life. When the sound of it faded, Grant said, under his breath, “Asshole.”

Joey had reached for the shards of glass, but Grant had stopped him. “I’ll get it,” he said, and gently pushed Joey’s hand out of the way. “You’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

“Joey?”

Joey blinks. Ish is in front of him, stepping carefully around the glass at his feet. _Sorry,_ Joey starts, but Ish’s hand wraps around one of his wrists and tugs gently.

“You’re bleeding,” Ish says, concerned.

A drop of blood wells up in the cut across Joey’s palm. He watched it drip and stain the creases of his hand.

“Come on,” Ish says, and puts a hand between Joey’s shoulder’s. “We need to make sure there isn’t any glass in it.”

In the bathroom, Ish shines a flashlight at Joey’s cut, dabbing the blood out of the way with a cotton ball. When he finds no glass in it, he disinfects it and bandages it up.

“Are you alright?” Ish asks, bending a little so he can peer into Joey’s eyes.

Joey nods. His head feels a little disconnect from his body, and even though Ish is right in front of him, he feels strangely far away.

Ish frowns. “Are you sure?” He pushes Joey’s hair out of his face. “Did you have too much wine?”

Joey shakes his head. _I’m sorry about the glass,_ he says.

Ish sighs, but it doesn’t seem angry. “Joseph,” he says, and strokes his thumb across the tender skin at Joey’s temple. “It was just a glass. I’m more worried about you - is your hand going to bother you while you play your instruments?”

 _It’s fine,_ Joey answers. He curls his injured hand, testing it. It might sting a little to hold his pick, but other than that he’ll be fine.

Ish gives him one last look before he takes his hand away. Joey immediately misses the warmth of it. “Alright,” he says. “Why don’t you go pick out a movie and we’ll watch it together. I’ll clean up the rest of the glass. That okay?”

Joey nods.

He ends up just picking a random movie from the collection Ish has. When Ish is finished cleaning up the kitchen, he doesn’t comment on Joey’s selection. He sits next to Joey on the couch, closer than Joey thought he would, and after a moment of hesitation, Ish’s arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders.

Joey leans into it.

***

Joey’s head is spinning. His stomach twists uncomfortably as he stumbles through crowded hallways, filled to the brim with people he only vaguely knows from school. The combination of those two things lets him know that he’s three drinks past what he should have had, and that if he has anymore he’s going to throw up all over a-friend-of-a-friend’s carpet.

Joey should, in theory, go to the kitchen, get some water, and ask one of the few designated drivers present if they can drop him off at home. But right now, on top of being dizzy and at real danger of showing everyone just how much he’s had to drink, Joey feels about five seconds away from suffocating. 

It had been fine, earlier - the pounding bass, the heat and motion of people’s bodies pressing up against his had made him feel alive, exhilarated. Now the noise feels like it’s making his bones shake under his skin, every stray arm that touches him makes him flinch, and he’s so hot he’s sweating through his clothes. The walls feel like they’re closing in on him, the floor trying to reach up and choke him, and Joey needs _out_ right now.

Joey pushes himself past a group of stumbling girls. They squawk indignantly at him, but he ignores them. The cool night air hits him like a slap in the face when he finally gets the front door open, and he almost trips as he passes by the handful of smokers standing on the front porch.

“Joey?” he hears a voice from behind him. “You good?”

Joey turns his head. Dan - or is it Don? Joey feels kind of bad about not knowing his name, considering they’d had math together last semester _and_ they’d been making out earlier that evening - is standing on the front steps. He has a cigarette in one hand and the other resting on the waist of someone Joey is fairly certain is Don-Dan-Something’s girlfriend.

Joey nods at him and flashes a tight smile before turning around to continue down the driveway.

Joey knows he probably shouldn’t be walking home, alone and drunk in the dead of night. He knows that Adeline would yell at him if she knew, but yesterday morning Joey had woken up to an empty house and a note on the kitchen table saying _Away until the 9th. Will call if longer. Love you, Mom_.

It was common enough by now, for Ma to leave without warning in the middle of the night, that she had stopped bothering to leave any extra instructions for him. Joey already knew the basics: where the emergency money was kept, which credit card to use for groceries, which list of phone numbers was for emergencies and which was for _emergencies_ \- the latter of the two including both Wintergreen’s private line, and (reluctantly) Slade’s number.

For the first six months after… _everything_ \- the attack, the divorce, Grant disappearing among the chaos of it all - Adeline had barely left Joey’s side. She’d been there for every doctor’s appointment, every ASL class, every nightmare that had left him gasping and clawing at his own throat. But, when it came down to it, there was only so much time Ma could spend stuck at home with him.

So now Joey spends days, sometimes even weeks, by himself. He’d been used to his parents flitting in and out of the house, back when he was younger. He’d even been used to them feeling distant and missing despite being physically there. But back then Grant had been there with him, and now Grant just feels like a ghost, or some barely-remembered fragment from Joey’s childhood.

Some days he feels half-crazy, thinking about Grant. Ma never talks about him, and Pa is never even around to not-talk about him.

Joey’s shoe scrapes on a patch of uneven asphalt. He sticks his arms out in an attempt to steady himself, and when he looks up he finds that he’s already on his street. He’d forgotten to turn on the porch light before going out, and he can just barely see the outline of his house in the neighbouring glow of the others.

Joey stops in front of his house, directly in the middle of the road. It’s late - probably close to three in the morning - and the only sounds in the neighbourhood is the wind rustling the branches and the crickets hiding in the flowerbeds. Joey stares at his house, dark and empty, and can’t bring himself to move.

He really should go inside. Make himself drink three gallons of water and get at least a few hours of sleep. He has church tomorrow morning, and the thought of Ish having to see him hungover makes him burn with shame. But, right now, Joey feels so achingly alone. He genuinely isn’t sure if he’ll be able to put his key in the lock, not in the dark with how drunk he is.

Next door, the light is on. Not just the front light, either, but in the living room, casting a pale yellow glow through the windows. Joey knows that Ish waits up for him, whenever he tells Ish that he’s going out somewhere late. He hadn’t mentioned the party tonight, but it was likely that Ish saw him leave early that night.

Before Joey can think about what he’s doing, he’s already crossing Ish’s front lawn, making his way to the front door.

Joey almost falls on the stairs, his toe catching on the top step and making him stumble ungracefully. His hands slam into the screen door when he catches himself. The glass rattles noisily in the quiet neighbourhood, making Joey wince. The glass is cool when Joey presses his forehead against it. His eyes squeeze shut tight enough that sparks start to dance under his eyelids. 

Joey almost doesn’t want to knock. Ish is so kind to him, already spends so much of his time with Joey even though he doesn’t have to. Ish isn’t his father, and Joey’s own parents can’t even be bothered to be there with him. Even when Ma isn’t out of town she still spends hours and hours at work. And Pa…

Joey hasn’t seen Slade in months. The last time he’d been home had been the day after Joey’s last birthday. He’d shown up at their front door, looking almost _sheepish_ when he’d lifted his hands to sign clumsily, _Happy birthday, Joey_. In that moment Joey had wanted so badly to launch himself at Slade, to have Slade wrap his arms around him and hold him. But that had never been the sort of relationship they’d had.

Ma, of course, had pitched a fit when she saw him standing in the doorway.

Joey bangs his head against the door. It rattles again, loud enough that it makes his ears ring.

“Joey?”

When Joey lifts his head Ish is standing on the other side of the screen door. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, a worried crease between his brows. Joey moves back so that Ish can open the door.

“Come on,” he says, and Joey walks through the doorway. “Are you alright?” Ish asks once Joey is inside, the door shut behind him. 

Joey nods. _Sorry_ , he signs. He drops his gaze to the floor, swaying a little on his feet. _I’m… drunk._ As if Ish couldn’t tell.

Ish makes a soft, concerned noise in the back of his throat. He puts a gentle hand on Joey’s back. “Sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

Ish guides Joey to the couch before disappearing into the kitchen. Joey buries his face in his hands. He’s shaking all over, and he feels very close to crying. Joey tries to breathe in the way his therapist taught him, in through his nose, out through his mouth, steady and even.

Joey lifts his head when he hears Ish pad back into the living room. Ish kneels down in front of him. “Here,” he says.

Joey tries to take the glass, but Ish sees how badly his hands are shaking. Ish helps hold it steady while Joey drains the glass, his hands rough and warm where they touch his on the cool glass.

Ish puts the glass on the coffee table with a soft _clink_. “Joseph,” he says quietly, “can you look at me?”

Joey swallows. Hesitantly, he turns his head and meets Ish’s gaze. Ish doesn’t look angry - instead his eyes are soft and worried, looking directly into Joey’s.

“Did you take something?”

It takes Joey a second to understand what Ish is asking him. He shakes his head.

“I won’t be mad if you did,” Ish tells him. He reaches out and squeezes Joey’s shoulder, his thumb caresses the skin just above the collar of Joey’s shirt. Joey can’t help but shudder. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Joey shakes his head again. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he knows Ish can see them.

“Oh, Joey,” Ish murmurs. He tugs Joey forward and wraps him up in a hug.

Joey presses his face into Ish’s shoulder. His hands curl into fists and grab the fabric of Ish’s shirt.

If Slade were here in Ish’s place, he would have snapped at Joey to man up, like he’d done throughout Joey’s childhood. Joey had always been a bit of a crybaby, and Slade had never failed to make it known how much that fact had infuriated him.

But, right now, Ish just lets him cry, rubbing firm, soothing circles into Joey’s back.

Joey can’t remember the last time anyone had hugged him.

After what feels like an eternity, Joey finally pulls away, scrubbing the half-dried tears off his face.

Ish pushes a curl of hair out of Joey’s face, his calloused fingers gentle. Joey shivers at the touch.

“Let’s get you into bed,” Ish says, voice soft and concerned. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Ish helps Joey stand, taking one of Joey’s hands and putting on his shoulder to steady him. For a moment all Joey can do is stare at him - his honey brown eyes, the line of his jaw in the lamp’s soft yellow glow. Ish has been so kind to him, so gentle - the way Ish always is to him.

Joey tightens the hand on Ish’s shoulder, and pulls Ish down to kiss him.

As drunk and uncoordinated as he is, Joey half misses - his nose bumping awkwardly against Ish’s as he tries to correct himself. It lasts for one second, maybe two, before Ish grabs Joey by the shoulders and pulls him back sharply.

There’s a long moment of silence, of Ish staring at Joey and Joey staring right back at Ish. Joey’s ears are burning; his head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton and static. He can’t believe he just did that, but he can’t even move to apologize, can’t do _anything_ but watch Ish stare at him.

“Joseph,” Ish finally breaths. His fingers brush along Joey’s jaw before carding through his hair. He’s so careful when he tilts Joey’s head and leans in to press their mouths together.

Joey melts into it, resting heavily against Ish. Ish presses him in closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. Joey’s mouth parts open and shudders when Ish licks and sucks at his bottom lip. Joey reaches an unsteady hand up to cup Ish’s face and brushes his thumb along the curve of Ish’s cheekbone. It only lasts for another second before Ish is moving away from him. Joey scrunches his face up, trying to drag Ish back in, but Ish just breaths out a laugh and separates them.

“Come on,” Ish says, his mouth curled in a warm smile. “You should get some sleep.”

Ish takes Joey’s hand in his and leads Joey up the stairs. To Joey’s surprise, he takes them to his room and not the guest room across the hall. Ish sits Joey on the bed, helps him take his shoes off and slip out of his jeans. When Joey lies down on the bed, Ish follows, pulling Joey into his chest and wrapping his arms around Joey.

Ish kisses Joey’s forehead, lips feather soft, and Joey is out like a light.

That’s how it starts.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Orville Peck's "Hope to Die" because he's all I've been listening to.


End file.
